


truth or dare

by jehans



Series: it's for you [13]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t usually play Truth or Dare when Enjolras is hanging out with them.<br/>Courfeyrac plots against Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	truth or dare

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after "the nine whiners of the apocalypse". Warnings for alcohol and strong language.

They don’t usually play Truth or Dare when Enjolras is hanging out with them.

This is mostly because Enjolras doesn’t ever drink and Truth or Dare is really only fun when you’re fifteen years old or when you’re half wasted. And Enjolras is never half wasted so it’s never any fun.

Except tonight when they all gathered on Enjolras’ and Courfeyrac’s floor to eat, drink and be merry (and mostly drink), Courfeyrac adopted a very wicked grin and suggested the game. His roommate has been holding out on him and he’d had about enough of that at this point. Jehan shot him a little warning look at the suggestion, but enough of the group was enthusiastic about the whole idea that they’d proceeded. Now most everyone is on varying levels of drunk, Eponine is glowering at her phone, Marius is asleep in the corner, Grantaire is muttering something to himself and clutching his Very Own Bottle of wine to his chest, and Enjolras is bored out of his mind. The last three people have chosen dare and besides Feuilly having to spend the next twenty minutes hanging upside down off the couch, nothing really interesting has happened.

“‘FEEERRREEE!” Courfeyrac calls out in a sing song voice and Combeferre looks up grumpily from his too-strong, badly mixed drink of vodka and some sort of soft drink that Bahorel fixed him on the last round. “It’s your turn,” Courfeyrac grins at him. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Combeferre says immediately, causing Bahorel’s eyebrows to raise.

“Woah, what do you not want to get asked?” he slurs, intrigued.

Combeferre ignores him.

“Someone needs to pick truth soon,” Joly whines. “We’re running out of ideas for dares.”

“I dare ‘Ferre —” Bossuet begins, then stops and giggles at the rhyme. “I ‘Ferre dare to pick truth next time.”

“Can you do that?” Feuilly asks from his batlike position on the couch.

Courfeyrac shrugs.

“I guess,” Jehan is saying. “It’s a dare, isn’t it?”

Combeferre accepts his fate by tipping more of his drink into his mouth. His turn is over for the time being, anyway, and he has eight more turns during which to hope the drunkenness of his comrades will make them forget about him entirely.

“Whose turn?” Grantaire grunts, trying to pass his bottle off to Jehan. “Something stronger,” he mumbles as a kind of explanation, pushing himself up to stumble toward the kitchen for more, leaving Jehan holding a half empty bottle of wine.

“My turn, I think,” Courfeyrac says uncertainly, then is derailed when Eponine shoves her phone in his hand.

“What the fuck does this say?” she demands and he squints at the badly misspelled text in front of him.

“ ‘Help, being swallowed by ninja turtles,’ ” he reads out loud. “Is this from Gav?”

“Why the fuck is he awake?” Eponine asks, snatching her phone back. Her language is always even more colorful when she’s intoxicated. “I told him to go to bed.”

“You left your brother alone at home?”

“You don’t know my life,” Eponine snaps.

“Truth or dare?” Jehan interrupts, poking at Courfeyrac with one hand and pushing away the wine with the other.

Courfeyrac turns his head over his shoulder to look at Jehan, then cracks a grin. “Truth,” he says and Joly sits up, interested again.

“Oh, I’ve got one,” Eponine says, dropping her phone on the floor and forgetting about it. “Before you got together with Jehan —”

“No relationship-damaging questions!” Jehan shouts from his place behind Courfeyrac. He’s snuggling up against his boyfriend’s back now and looks like he might go to sleep there if undisturbed. At his cry, Courf tilts his head back to nudge it lovingly against Jehan’s.

Eponine looks at him. “It’s not,” she says simply, then continues. “Before you got together with Jehan, did you ever jerk off thinking about him?”

Jehan lets out a sort of banshee shriek and buries his face in Courfeyrac’s back in embarrassment, but Courfeyrac just bursts out laughing and reaches back to pull Jehan around and into his lap, where Jehan sits, covering his bright red face with his hands.

Courf pecks him on the cheek and then turns to Eponine. “Yes,” he says proudly. “Pretty much all the time.”

Jehan looks like he wants to die. Eponine toasts them both and says, “Respect.”

“Enjolras’ turn!” Courfeyrac cries happily and Enjolras looks up from his phone, where he’s been checking the news.

“No, Grantaire’s first,” he says calmly.

“Grantaire is still getting drinks, I don’t want to wait for him.”

“We’ll do him next,” Feuilly says. Then, “I can’t do this anymore, my head is about to explode,” as he tips his feet forward and lands right side up on the floor. “Truth or dare, Enjolras?”

“Pick truth,” Joly begs. Bossuet has fallen asleep, curled up on the floor around him.

Enjolras glances at Combeferre, who’s draped over the armchair, swinging his feet, before he sighs. “Dare.”

Joly groans mightily but Courfeyrac finds that devilish grin and opens his mouth.

Jehan, however, saw this grin, and leaps to his feet. He’s not wearing any pants (Coufeyrac dared him to remove them two hours ago and and then hid them, and he never got around to finding them and putting them back on), and a drunk Courf is instantly distracted by this. “A minute, Courf?” Jehan squeals, reaching down to drag Courfeyrac to his feet. “We’ll be right back,” he says too loudly to the others, “don’t do anything without us.”

He manages to get Courfeyrac back into Enjolras’ room (somehow they miss the door to Courf’s) before Courfeyrac realizes he’s not after some quick sex and starts protesting.

“What are you going to do?” Jehan demands a little frantically, finding it hard to stay standing upright without wobbling.

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Have a little fun,” he mumbles, his eyes drooping with drunkenness.

“What are you going to dare him to do?” Jehan presses, putting his hands against Courfeyrac’s chest.

Courf puts his own hands over Jehan’s and smiles, catlike. “Well, Grantaire is here,” he begins slowly, “and Enjolras is here. And their lips are here…”

“Don’t dare him to kiss Grantaire,” Jehan says urgently, wiping the smile off of Courfeyrac’s face.

“Why not?” he asks petulantly.

Jehan casts around for a way to explain. “Um…do you remember when you first kissed me?”

And suddenly, mischief is replaced by intense tenderness and Courfeyrac smiles, brushing the backs of his fingers over Jehan’s cheekbone. “Vividly.”

“What would that have been like if someone had dared you? Before we were ready?”

“… _Oh_.”

He’s getting it. “We had to be ready before we could kiss each other,” Jehan continues, maybe less eloquent than he would be without the alcohol, but making his point nonetheless. “It wouldn’t have been half as romantic if someone had made us do it. Don’t make them kiss.”

“But —” Courf is still pouting. “What if they never do it on their own?”

“Then they never do it on their own,” Jehan says and Courfeyrac snorts and opens his mouth to make a sexual reference but Jehan covers his mouth his his hand. “Don’t do it, Coufeyrac.”

Courfeyrac sighs and Jehan removes his hand. “Fine.” Then he grins again and tips toward Jehan. “Can I make us kiss?” he asks and Jehan reluctantly giggles.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he breathes, “but yes, you can kiss me, you lovable, drunk idiot.”

Seventy seconds later when Courfeyrac and Jehan emerge out of Enjolras’ room, Jehan’s hair is mussed and both of their faces are pink from kissing. Feuilly rolls his eyes mightily upon seeing them and Joly pipes up helpfully, “Enjolras changed to truth!”

“He can’t change to truth,” Bahorel moans, sounding quite like he’s already protested several times, “he already picked dare!”

“But dare is  _boring_ ,” Joly whines, waking Bossuet with a snort. “Courf!” He’s calling for a ruling.

Courfeyrac considers as he drops back onto the floor, pulling the pantsless Jehan into his lap again. “I’ll allow it,” he says. That stupid evil grin comes back as he says, “In fact, I have a question.”

“Oh no,” Jehan sighs, dropping his face into Courfeyrac’s neck.

Enjolras just looks up patiently. Combeferre, sensing danger, has simply placed his hands over his face. Grantaire is settling further back into the couch.

Courfeyrac grins at Enjolras. It’s like they’re facing off. Courf draws.

“Do you,” he begins slowly, “have non-platonic feelings for one of your friends in this room?”

Jehan is hissing his name as Joly sits bolt upright and Eponine cries, “No lying!” Bahorel actually goes so far as to look straight at Grantaire, who is very pointedly looking at no one. Combeferre is glaring daggers at Courfeyrac, but neither Courfeyrac nor Enjolras have so much as blinked away from each other. 

The silence is ridiculously loud. Enjolras doesn’t reply for a very long time. Nobody moves. 

Finally, into the breathless silence, Enjolras nods.

It’s barely more than a slight tip of his head, but nobody misses it. What they do miss, in the loud outcry and flailing of limbs and whacking each other in delight that follows, is Enjolras’ gaze sliding briefly from Courfeyrac and locking, for just a moment, with Grantaire’s.

Grantaire doesn’t say another word for the remainder of the evening. He won’t even take his turn, he just keeps drinking. No one is sober enough to notice. 

Except Jehan, but Jehan notices everything.

Courfeyrac is too far gone to tell, yet, though, and it wouldn’t make a difference at this point anyway. So Jehan ends up running interference instead, stumbling through some speech which gets everyone to forget that Grantaire is even a point of interest, and pulling them back to the game. 

Everything sort of falls apart after that. Bossuet decides he’s bored of truth or dare and of napping and starts sticking his hands down Joly’s pants instead, which prompts Joly to stick his tongue down Bossuet’s throat; no one remembers that Combeferre was supposed to choose truth this time, so he gets away with another dare; Enjolras spends the rest of the night in the kitchen, talking with a very intoxicated Feuilly, who can’t remember the names of any of his professors and thinks it very important that he do, while Bahorel and Eponine are left alone with Courfeyrac to try to think up more truths and dares.

Finally, Courfeyrac, too, gets bored enough that he just grabs Jehan and starts kissing his face, which quickly leads to the two of them sloppily making out on the floor, Courfeyrac on his back and Jehan straddling him, locked in an embrace passionate enough to indicate they’ve entirely forgotten that they’re surrounded by their friends.

Even Joly and Bossuet aren’t this bad. 

Combeferre decides this is the cue to leave and heaves himself up off the chair, going around and gathering up the rest, hauling Marius up off the floor where he’s still sleeping in the corner and making sure everyone has hats and coats and can walk without falling over. He looks around at the mess they’ve left and glances at Enjolras apologetically.

“I can come over tomorrow to help clean up,” he offers, but Enjolras shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says simply. “I’ll make Courfeyrac do it.”

There’s something rather malicious in his smile. Combeferre smirks back, knowing what that means, then gestures at the prostrate couple in the living room.

“Have fun with that.”

Enjolras shrugs mildly. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all he says.

Grantaire is stumbling mightily toward the door. 

“You gonna crash here?” Bahorel asks him and he grunts.

“With that?” he demands, pointing at Courfeyrac, who now has his hands up Jehan’s shirt while Jehan is fumbling with Courfeyrac’s jeans. “No, thank you. ‘M goin’ home.”

“I’ll walk you,” Combeferre offers, purposefully not looking at Enjolras as he does.

” ‘M fine,” Grantaire slurs.

“I don’t mind. Come on.” Combeferre starts ushering them all out the door. “Bye, Courfeyrac!” he calls, honor-bound to say goodbye to his host, but Jehan’s shirt and sweater are nearly off now (they would have been already except neither party seems willing to break their incredibly messy kiss to pull them over his head), and Courfeyrac is paying no attention to anyone but the boy on his chest.

They all leave pretty quickly after that, and Enjolras chucks a crushed, empty beer can at Courfeyrac’s head on his way into his room.

 

When Jehan wakes up the next morning, he’s on the floor and he’s freezing.

Which really is no wonder, he contemplates, looking down at himself and clutching at his aching head, as he is completely naked save for his underwear.

He desperately needs water, so he grabs for whatever clothes he can reach, ending up in Courfeyrac’s shirt and his own sweater and still no pants (where the hell are all the pants?), and wrapped in a blanket off the couch because it’s so cold and _why did they think they could sleep on the floor with no clothes and no blankets?_

Enjolras emerges sometime during Jehan’s third glass of water, and the events of the previous evening come flooding back to him. He winces greatly and Enjolras verily _smirks_  at him.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Jehan hisses immediately, trying to not wake Courfeyrac, who is snorting a bit and rolling over.

Enjolras waves a hand in absolution. “You know probably better than I do that Courfeyrac cannot be contained when he gets an idea in his head.”

“Still,” Jehan sighs. “I wish he hadn’t.” There’s a brief pause while Enjolras moves to make coffee, and then Jehan blurts out, “For the record, I think it’s great.”

The look Enjolras shoots him borders on icy.

“It’s complicated, Jehan,” he says firmly. 

“I know,” Jehan says. He does. “I still think it’s great.”

Enjolras refuses to smile back at him.

It looks like Jehan is getting ready to say something else, but mercifully, Courfeyrac chooses this moment to wake up and push himself into a sitting position. He groans and looks around for something to put on his body other than the boxers he’s wearing. The only real option is Jehan’s shirt which is far too small for him, so he grunts and shoves himself off the ground, stumbling toward his room and emerging a minute later wearing a carefully ironic sweater and woollen pajama pants. Jehan watches this whole ordeal fondly and seems to forget he was going to say something at all. 

“Morning,” Courfeyrac mumbles to both of them as he shuffles into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Jehan, who silently snuggles into him and hands him the rest of his water. Courfeyrac takes it gratefully and chugs it.

“Hey, love?” Jehan asks. “Where are my pants?”

Courfeyrac smirks when he lowers the glass. “You’ll never find them,” he hisses.

A wordless whine comes out of Jehan, and then he adds, “Courf, it’s  _cold!_ ”

Courfeyrac nuzzles his face and purrs. “I know how you can get warm,” he murmurs while Enjolras gets a mug out of the cabinet.

“How?” Jehan asks. 

“Shower?”

At the suggestion, Jehan goes pink and glances at Enjolras. Which Enjolras finds a bit rich considering the state of undress he was in last night when Enjolras went to bed. But now Courfeyrac is laying lazy kisses across Jehan’s jawline and Jehan closes his eyes at the pleasure of it. 

“Okay,” he breathes.

Courfeyrac releases him and they both turn to go toward the bathroom, but Enjolras finally pipes up.

“Actually, Courfeyrac, may I speak with you for a minute?”

Courfeyrac freezes, looking stricken. He was hoping to get away without the talking-to he really actually deserves. Jehan flashes a nervous smile. 

“I’ll go start the water,” he mumbles, then practically flees. 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything for a moment. He also won’t look away from Courfeyrac, who shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was out of line. I was drunk!”

“But you did soberly initiate the game with the intention of coercing me into revealing information I had not yet disclosed to you,” Enjolras presses, “did you not?”

Courfeyrac winces and groans. “Sorry,” he says again. 

Enjolras gaze suddenly becomes fiery and intense. Courfeyrac cowers.

“You _were_ out of line,” Enjolras says, his voice quiet but his inflection deadly. “You will not do that again.”

Courfeyrac just shakes his head. As quickly as he ignited, Enjolras extinguishes.

“Also, _you’re_  going to clean up the mess from last night,” he says evenly. “Enjoy your shower.”

Courfeyrac smiles a little, nervously, before he flees into the bathroom too. When Enjolras wants to be, he’s absolutely terrifying.

Enjolras contemplates going back into his room until the time he’d agreed to meet Combeferre, but as the sound of running water fails to cover the sounds of giggles, and then moans coming out of the bathroom, he decides meeting Combeferre right now sounds like a better idea and grabs his coat on the way out.

He pulls his phone out as he heads down the stairs of his building and sends a text which he assumes will not reach its recipient for another few hours.

 _I feel we should talk_.

 

Combeferre is, as usual, neither surprised nor perturbed to see Enjolras at his door two hours before they were supposed to see each other. Combeferre lives alone off campus and receives visitors at literally all hours of the day at night. Enjolras may be their leader, but Combeferre is the one who takes care of everyone, who listens to everyone’s worries and complaints, who answers his phone at 4am when someone is drunk and stranded. But he doesn’t take care of Enjolras; no one does. Enjolras doesn’t want them to.

Seeing his best friend, Combeferre just smiles and steps back to allow Enjolras in. “Lovebirds?” he asks simply.

“They’re like rabbits,” Enjolras replies, betraying a little exasperation. “I’m very pleased they’re happy, but I don’t know if they’re actually capable of keeping their hands off of each other without the world falling apart.”

“Did you yell at Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asks casually, going to put the kettle on as Enjolras takes a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“I did not yell.”

“Did you scare him?”

“Only mildly. By the way, you did quite a good job last night of not ever answering truth,” Enjolras remarks.

“Thank you.”

“Do you really think they’d have asked you about it?” Enjolras asks as Combeferre hands him a muffin. 

“This lot?” Combeferre huffs. “Of course. They asked you.”

“They suspected me already,” Enjolras says dismissively, also accepting the banana Combeferre is offering him. “It’s not like Grantaire is the epitome of subtlety. What?”

Combeferre is now choking on his apple. When he composes himself a bit, he chuckles. “My friend,” he says warmly, “I am sorry, but neither are you.”

“What?” Enjolras has no idea what Combeferre is talking about, which just makes Combeferre laugh more.

“You are black and white about everything,” Combeferre tries to explain. “This too.”

But Enjolras is shaking his head. “This is hardly black and white,” he says quietly.

Combeferre hesitates. When he opens his mouth to respond, Enjolras’ phone buzzes on the counter.

It’s a text from Grantaire. A reply to Enjolras’. Which means he’s actually awake now.

_If you like._

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asks.

“Yeah,” Enjolras responds, tapping out a quick reply.

_Coffee?_

The answer is almost immediate.

_Give me an hour._

Enjolras looks up at Combeferre. He doesn’t need looking after, and he doesn’t ask for it. But damned if he doesn’t wish for a little guidance right now. And Combeferre the Guide would give it to him gladly if he asks.

But somehow, Enjolras can’t bring himself to ask.


End file.
